


Life on Mars

by letsstartagain



Series: We're Here Because We're Here [5]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: 1.15, Angst, Culmets - Freeform, Disco spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsstartagain/pseuds/letsstartagain
Summary: They gave you a medal today.After the medal ceremony, Paul reflects. So does Michael.Spoilers for Disco season finale.





	Life on Mars

**Author's Note:**

> Needed more feels in that finale, so here. Have some angst.

**/***PERSONAL LOG: Stamets, Paul***/**

**Stardate 1208.3**

They gave you a medal today.

It’s a fucking tiny thing, both physically--and, and metaphorically, if I want to be bitter about it, which I do. A medal. A fucking medal.

You should be proud of me. I smiled for the cameras. I clapped when Cornwell gave her speech. I spoke with the media. Lasted a full ten minutes before I was asked to leave. The picture of cooperation, that’s me. Lieutenant Fucking Commander Paul Fucking Stamets.

Yeah, they gave me a promotion. It’s the ultimate apology from Starfleet, isn’t it? A promotion? I should be fucking honored.

[silence]

In case you were wondering, I put your medal with that subspace transceiver I built for you--what, over twenty years ago? All of that’s in a box that’s been sitting on the coffee table in our quarters since Ash Tyler snapped your neck in _Discovery_ ’s medbay while I was ten feet away taking the _fucking_ nap of the century.

[silence]

I, um, I melted mine down the first chance I got and soldered it to that back leg of my chair on _Discovery_ \--you know, the one that’s been a little short since I knocked out the foot to use as an emergency valve cap? It’s almost perfect now. Only wobbles a little.

[silence]

We have two weeks’ leave before we’re due to leave for Vulcan to pick up our new captain. Unsurprisingly, we have no idea who it’s going to be. Sometimes, I think Starfleet’s just one huge fucking reality show with hidden cameras everywhere, like--Hey! Your next captain’s  _not_ a homicidal, manipulative bag of dicks from a parallel universe! Surprise!

[laughter]

Ah, fuck.

You--you’re still out there, aren’t you.

I _know_ you’re still out there. And that’s--that’s what’s the hardest part. You know, Cornwell actually took me aside and offered me my lab back--you know, the one that she took down one fucking year ago when she separated Straal and me so we could go off and fight her fucking war. She said I’d have my choice of postings. I could stay on Earth, take my month-long bereavement leave in our empty apartment--it’s still here, you know? They didn’t touch any of it.

Everything’s the same.

I’m sitting here, halfway through that 2188 Cardassian reserve you gave me for my fortieth, and all I can think of is how almost nothing has changed. Almost nothing, you know.

Like--ah.. You, um… Remember--remember, you forgot your toothbrush when we shipped out? I remember you bitching about it--quietly and professionally, of course--on the shuttle transport out to the space docks. It’s still here. It’s in your fucking cup on the right hand side of our sink. Just sitting here. It’s been here a year. A whole year. It’s survived a war.

[silence]

Why the _fuck_ did you come with me, Hugh? Why--

[silence]

_Why?_

[silence]

[silence]

(sharp breath)

I turned Cornwell down. I’m going to take my leave here, then in two weeks, I’m heading back out on the _Discovery._ I’ve been barred from further work as the spore drive interface, which I’m sure you’ll be thrilled about. They want to find something non-sentient to stab instead.

They also asked me to help.

I told them to fuck off.

[silence]

I would’ve left Starfleet by now if it wasn’t… If--

I should’ve left a long fucking time ago.

But you’d never have left. Never. Starfleet was your home. It was as much a part of you as you were of me.

[silence]

You were--

[silence]

You--

[silence]

 _God fucking damn it, Hugh,_ I--

[chime]

(lowly) Shit, someone’s at the door.

(loudly) Who the fuck is it?

[inaudible]

The _fuck?_

**/***END TRANSMISSION***/**

* * *

 She could almost smell the Cardassian whiskey through the battered titanium-alloy door as it rattled open.

“What the _fuck_ do you want,” Stamets slurred, listing heavily to the side in the doorway.

“Ah...” Michael said, eyeing him carefully, “Other members of the crew were in the area, and I was wondering if you might like to join us for dinner later today.”

“No,” Stamets replied, already stepping back, elbow jabbed against the door controls.

Impulsively, Michael stepped forward, jamming the door open with a booted foot.

“Withdrawal from social activities is inadvisable,” she said, words tumbling mechanically out of her mouth.

Stamets squinted at her.

“You’re not _actually_ a Vulcan,” he replied broadly, “Remember?”

Michael crossed her arms across her chest.

“It’s one o’clock in the afternoon,” she said.

Paul raised his eyebrows, gesturing with his half-empty glass.

 _“So?”_ he demanded, “I’m on leave. _We’re_ on leave.”

“This isn’t good for you,” Michael replied.

“Oh,” Stamets snapped, pale brows arching higher on his forehead, “And you would know--how?”

Michael flinched.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Stamets snarled, slamming a palm into the door controls again, “You of all people should understand.”

The door thudded shut.

Michael stared at it for a long moment, at its dull, worn surface, her reflection distorted within. She wondered how many times it had opened.

How many times it had closed.

She triggered the door chime again.

Silence.

“Lieutenant--” she stopped herself short, eyes closed, head bowed. “Please. Open the door.”

Silence.

Michael took a deep breath, leaning her forehead slowly against the cool surface.

“I also came to apologize,” she called, stomach twisting, “I trusted Lieutenant Tyler’s judgement.” She swallowed--a warm hand on hand, frightened, desperate lips against hers--and forced her eyes open. “I should not have.”

Silence.

Silence.

The door opened, and she stepped back quickly, heart hammering.

Stamets looked at her wearily, a universe apart from the man who had snapped in her face just moments before. They said nothing.

Slowly, he reached behind him and set his glass down on the console table.

He, too, folded his arms across his chest, eyes fixed on the ground.

“I don’t blame you,” he said quietly. He glanced up at her, eyes sharp, piercing through the thick cloud of grief that shrouded his every action. “How could I possibly blame you?”

Michael, mouth dry, said nothing.

Stamets dropped his hands to his sides almost helplessly, hands open.

“Now you know,” he said simply.

“Know what?” Michael replied.

“What it’s like--” Stamets paused, looked down briefly, gathered himself. He met her gaze evenly, old and tired. “What it’s like to be in love. It’s--” he smiled faintly, “--illogical.”

Michael said nothing.

Stamets dropped his head again, staring at the floor as he spoke.

“Hugh and I--” his voice broke, shattered into jagged, ragged fragments of loss, “We--” he tossed his head back, blinking furiously, reaching for composure. “He wouldn’t blame you,” he murmured, almost to himself, “And he’s right. It’s not your fault.”

Michael swallowed.

The silence lingered, settled.

“But thank you,” Stamets continued, “Your sentiment is…” He shrugged lopsidedly. “...appreciated.”

They stared at each other, unspoken uneasiness cresting into a trough of tacit understanding.

Michael cleared her throat.

“We’ll be meeting for dinner at around six o’clock,” she said, “My quarters are located on just the next street over. I can meet you at the shuttle stop at five-thirty if you would like to join us.”

Stamets smiled crookedly at her.

“Thank you,” he replied, running a hand through his hair, “But I--” he glanced back over his shoulder into the gaping absence of--

He snapped his mouth shut and turned back to Michael, who watched him with sad understanding.

“Another time,” she said, “Perhaps.”

Stamets jerked a nod. Michael turned to go.

“Michael--”

She paused, eyebrows raised.

“Your reinstatement,” Stamets said tightly, arms folded again, leaning against the doorjamb, “It… was well-deserved.”

Michael smiled faintly, surprisingly warmed.

“Thank you,” she replied.

Stamets jerked another nod, and the door slid shut again between, a newly-penetrable barrier.

Michael slowly turned again back down the hall, guided by the ghost of parallel feet.

**Author's Note:**

> There may or may not be more.  
> [tumblr](https://inflatablezebras.tumblr.com/)


End file.
